


This Time Around

by TooTiredToJoinTheRevolution



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anti-Depressants, Anxiety, Depression, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Medical Conditions, Mental Health Issues, Sex, Substance Abuse, Triggers, possibly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2017-05-30
Packaged: 2018-11-07 00:07:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11047185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TooTiredToJoinTheRevolution/pseuds/TooTiredToJoinTheRevolution
Summary: College is hard, and so is love.Alternatively:Grantaire needs help from his friends, Enjolras tries really hard, and Joly is the best friend in the world.





	This Time Around

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first real fanfiction I'm (trying) writing, because I never finish my projects and I suck.  
> I have links and credits at the end so check that out.  
> Enjoy, xxx

«Hey» Grantaire jumped even though Enjolras hadn’t spoken loudly.  
«Apollo. What an unexpected surprise»  
«I’ll admit, Courf told me to come.»  
Enjolras stood by the empty dorm door, his hand placed on the frame and his face as soft as it could get, as far as Grantaire had seen, at least. Grantaire, sat on the floor and surrounded by half packed boxes, looked up at him with tired eyes, and that softness hurt him incredibly.  
«Nice to know» Grantaire mumbled, tearing his eyes away and looking down at his hands.  
«But- you already know this- I wouldn’t have if I didn’t _truly_ want to» Enjolras spoke in a way that reminded the cynic of fire crackling softly, so different from the thunder that rumbled beneath his voice when they fought. He reflected that this unfamiliar gentleness had so much more power on him than their usual, tragically unresolved tension.  
Grantaire and Enjolras, ever since they’d met, had always had a terribly difficult relationship, and at times, at least on Grantaire’s part, horribly unhealthy. He didn’t blame the stoically beautiful politics student, not completely. Everything he did was unhealthy, from the excessive drinking, to chain smoking, to binging on Enjolras’ hostility just to feel something, just to have his attention, negative as it was.  
Like he had now, yet now the blond’s attention wasn’t aggressive, and it felt unsettling.  
«Of course you wouldn’t.» Grantaire refused to meet his eyes.  
«Grantaire.»  
«Weird guy, that R.»  
«Be serious.» Enjolras spoke those words as if he hadn’t spoken them a thousand times already, in far harsher tones.  
«I think we both know I can’t do that.» said Grantaire, his voice croaky with self-deprecation.  
«Why not?»  
«I’m a miserable fuck, if I don’t make a joke about it, I may as well rot inside this revolting vessel» this time he managed to look up in time to see Enjolras flinch.  
«I came to apologize.» he said, without deigning those words with a response.  
«About what?»  
«About shouting at you. Calling you out in a way I shouldn’t have. You know I say untrue things when I get angry, but I’m not trying to justify my behaviour. I’m sorry, Grantaire.»  
Grantaire felt sick. How dare he do _anything_ to make that strong voice sound so sad. He cringed, feeling a sudden rush of fear, his fight or flight mode kicking in. He stood up and almost immediately lost his balance, but barely a second had passed before a cool hand was underneath his arm, holding him up. Enjolras was so close Grantaire could feel the warmth of his breath. He did not know if it would be more likely for him to start running or drop to his knees in defeat.  
«All okay?» Enjolras whispered, which, impossibly, made it so much worse.  
«Just go.» he said harshly, and tried to fix it with a pleading look.  
He thought he might have sounded exceptionally desperate, because Enjolras, though still steadying him by holding his shoulder, took a step back.  
«I’ll call Joly» The blond said resolutely, and slowly let go of Grantaire, who was still standing on nothing but sheer will power, which he usually lacked.  
_Joly. Joly is good._

Enjolras was gone and Grantaire threw himself on the only piece of furniture (aside from the bed and the built-in desk) that he hadn’t packed yet, the tiny, broken up couch that was only ironically for two people, because he alone already took up all of the butt space.  
In a daze he reached down to the floor to grab his tobacco and rolled himself a cigarette with trembling hands, barely managing to light it up when he had. Smoke rolled on his tongue, and he finally felt he could breathe again.  
Once his thoughts, if not the creature in his chest, had somewhat settled, he felt sharp enough to reflect on why he’d had such a strong reaction to Enjolras’ presence. Of course, he always did. But he’d been living this whole hell of a week in a pathetic state of constant drunkness, reason for which he had stopped taking antidepressants for fear of (even more) negative side effects to the drugs. Because, believe it or not, he did have just an ounce of self-preservation left in him. Not enough to keep himself away from alcohol completely of course, and certainly not enough to keep himself away from Enjolras.  
The night before, pissed drunk, he’d announced to the Amis that he’d been expelled from college for public drunkness, and, to his unreasonable confusion, the news had upset most of his friends. What had followed had not been one of his most heated arguments with Enjolras, but was fairly close to making the top three of that list. Grantaire couldn’t remember clearly, but he was quite sure that someone had ended up crying.  
He’d consumed his cigarette halfway when Joly barged through the door, his breathing short and his eyes wide, with worry showing clear on his face  
«Enjolras called. He said you seemed sick. Is anything the matter?»  
Grantaire let out a half-hearted laugh.  
«I’ve got depression.» he said. Joly’s features softened, and he looked slightly apprehensive. Grantaire was sure that if he hadn’t looked like absolute death, Joly would have smiled.  
«What’s going on, ‘Taire? You know you have to tell me.»  
Him and Joly had made a promise about three months into their friendship that they always, no matter in what situation, have to say if something was wrong. And of course this usually only applied to Grantaire, him being by far the most problematic in their friendship. And Joly had GAD, panic disorder and hypochondria. Together they made quite the duo.  
Joly leaned against the arm of the couch, still facing Grantaire and patiently waiting for a response.  
«And isn’t it prohibited to smoke in dorms?» he tried in the meantime.  
«I’m not a student anymore. They can’t really do anything.»  
«They can still give you a fine, Grantaire.»  
«Fuck. You’re right.» and yet, he made no move to put out his cigarette.  
Grantaire sighed heavily. He had lied to his friends the night before, had provided them with the easy version, the version that made sense and didn’t make him feel like crying at any given moment. And so realistic, nobody would even think to question it.  
He could keep on lying to the others. But to his best friend? That was a much harder task than the former.  
«I wasn’t expelled, Joly.»  
«What?» his friend questioned.  
«I dropped out.»  
«Why?»  
«Because. Because my brain is crushing me, because people like me shouldn’t be in places like this, because it feels wrong to even take up space here. Because Gros is an entitled dick, because I’m so depressed I can hardly get a thought out of this stupid head, because Feuilly would kill for this and I don’t even bother showing up to half my classes. Because why not exceed my parents’ expectations and disappoint them even more? Need any more reasons?»  
Joly let out a deep breath and looked like he wanted to say something, but stayed quiet, mostly because he was the best friend in the world and loved Grantaire enough to not question him further.  
«Anything else?» he asked after a while.  
«Yeah. I haven’t taken Cymbalta in two weeks.»  
«Because you’ve been drinking non-stop for two weeks» said Joly with finality, his voice giving away the fact that the conversation was worrying him greatly.  
«Yes. And no. It makes me feel dead. It’s like being drunk minus the fun.»  
«And minus the regret the morning after.»  
«I still choose that.»  
They remained in comfortable silence for a while, Grantaire smoking and Joly pointedly avoiding the smoke trail and breathing in as little as possible, until he stood up and began clearing up as best he could. Through the cloudy air, Grantaire watched his friend gather up all of the empty beer bottles, scrap paper and rubbish into a garbage bag and wipe every flat surface he could find, and, in order to permit movement, he began moving the smallest boxes to the far side of the tiny room.  
«Feel better?» joked Grantaire.  
«Very.» he paused. Then: «You can live with us.» It was neither a question nor a suggestion, so Grantaire grumbled and Joly interpreted it as a yes.  
In reality he was grateful for his friends’ willingness to help his sorry ass, yet he could not help but ignore the small voice telling him that accepting their help meant also letting them down, showing them how weak he was. Still, he was, as of the week before, not only tragically unemployed, but also a college dropout, not to mention clinically depressed and an alcoholic. All of which would look great on his CV. To be homeless on top of all of that would be almost funny if it weren’t so close to reality.  
«I would really love to scold you right now, ‘Taire, but I think I’ll leave that to Chetta later.»  
Grantaire let out a long whine.  
«Right now, you need a shower and you need to sleep. This place smells like sad sex, booze and desperation, and I don’t want anything to do with it, so come home with me and try out the couch. Boss and I will help you move out of here tomorrow.»  
Underneath his softness lay a firmness Grantaire couldn’t help but love, so he agreed and followed Joly back to the apartment, and ended up falling asleep on his friends’ queen-sized bed instead. 

***

The next day found Grantaire awake at around 7 a.m., which, for him, was extremely unusual, craving a drink. Trying desperately to ignore the tug in his stomach, with great effort, he pushed himself off the large bed and padded toward the kitchen.  
He came to regret this choice when he saw who was waiting for him, eyebrows raised as she leaned against the counter, alone.  
«Musichetta.» Grantaire groaned.  
«Grantaire.» she said pointedly.  
«Can we do this in the p.m.?»  
«We are doing this right now.» she spoke firmly, crossing her arms and looking only slightly terrifying.  
«I imagine Joly already told you all of the juicy gossip.»  
«He most certainly did.» she said, and then she was off.  
«You know, I’m not even going to worry about why, exactly, you decided to drop out of college, goddamnit, R, but why on earth would you lie to us? That head of yours is hard enough to comprehend as it is, imagine if you just started lying your way out of every little inconvenience? We’re your friends, R. We’re here for a reason.»  
«Are you done?»  
«No. You have to stop drinking, R, and you have to start taking your meds again.»  
«I can’t do that.»  
«You can’t stop drinking?»  
«No. I mean yes. Fuck, I meant my meds. I can’t start taking them again, they’re not working.»  
«Then ask the doctor to give you something else.» suggested Musichetta reasonably.  
«I will. But that means I have to stop drinking again and I just- I don’t know what to do.» his voice faltered.  
«So accept our help. What’s the matter with you? We’ve offered so many times.»  
«I want to do it on my own, Chetta…» Grantaire said weakly.  
«And how’s that been going so far?»  
«I fucking hate you.» responded Grantaire, mostly for a lack of comebacks.  
«Sure you do.» she said, and when the man in front of her said nothing, she took a step forward, and placed her hands on either shoulder, as if to shake him.  
«Let us help you. Please.»  
«Do I have a choice?» asked Grantaire with a tired sigh, already knowing the answer.  
«Do I look like I’m joking?»  
Silence rung out between them until the moment passed. Then, Musichetta let go of his shoulders and turned away. When she spun back round, she was holding a mug of dark coffee, which she pushed into his hands.  
«I’m going to work.» she said, and passed him, stopping to place a kiss on his cheek.  
She paused by the door.  
«Oh, and Grantaire. Your phone dinged.»

After that Grantaire drank his coffee in silence, deciding to ignore his phone— it was probably Bahorel sending him Vine compilations— and resolutely _not_ looking at the cupboard where Bossuet kept his mother’s limoncello. Finally, when the clothes in which he’d slept began feeling too uncomfortable, he walked across the living room to reach the bathroom and have a long awaited shower. On the couch slept Joly and Bossuet, tangled in a ridiculous muddle of limbs, and Grantaire, imagining that Musichetta must have slept on the floor, felt a twinge of guilt for having occupied their bed.

Disappointingly the shower only made him feel a little better, and ‘a little’ was certainly not what he needed in that moment, but at least the two lovebirds had woken up and were having— sharing— breakfast, Bossuet’s laughter filling the air as Joly had apparently been giggling so hard he’d snorted cereal out of his nose.  
«You two are disgusting.» said Grantaire, though a smile played easily on his lips.  
«Good morning, sexy.» said Bossuet while Joly was still coughing out bits of cereal.  
Grantaire scoffed, looking down at his bare chest, droplets of water still trailing down his skin, dampening the jeans he had already put back on. He hadn’t been to the gym in weeks, and his only dance partner, Floreal*, was going throug h exams and couldn’t practice with him. His beer belly seemed to be getting bigger and his muscles felt weaker. Just another thing to add to his long list of things he despised about himself.  
«Hey, tummies are sexy, trust me, I know.» said Joly, picking up on Grantaire’s insecurity and poking Bossuet in the ribs.  
«While you were in the shower your phone dinged twice» Bossuet informed him, trying his best to stop Joly from tickling him.  
Grantaire groaned and reached for it as it sat, face down, on the farthest corner of the counter. He flipped it round, turned the display on and what he saw almost made him choke:

~ **3 messages from Enjolras**

He unlocked his phone so fast he could feel his thumb cramp. 

– **From Enjolras, 6:55 a.m.** _Just checking in. Is everything okay?_

– **From Enjolras, 8:35 a.m.** _Rude of me not to say good morning. Sorry._

– **From Enjolras, 8:37 a.m.** _Good morning._

Butterflies less fluttered and more thrashed in the depths of Grantaire’s stomach, and his throat felt like it had been just turned inside out like a sock.  
He groaned ceremoniously and crossed the room to throw himself down on the unmade coach just for effect.  
«What?» Bossuet asked, running after him and hitting his shin against the small glass table in front of the couch.  
«Ouch, fuck!»  
«Baby, are you okay!?» cried Joly, worry filling his features as he forced the taller man to sit down and leaned to examine his leg.  
«Babe, I’m fine!» tried Bossuet, yet he was grimacing.  
«You’re bleeding!»  
«Shit, am I really?»  
«Stay still, I’ll get the aid kit.» and Joly, wearing the concerned and focused face he usually wore when an injury occurred (commonly called Joly’s _doctor face_ , a term coined by Bahorel the day he broke his knuckle after punching a wall, drunk out of his wits), went straight for the bathroom.  
«Dude, you have _got_ to tell me what just happened, because I’m now injured because of it.» said Bossuet, in an impressively casual tone, given the blood trailing down his leg and onto his socks.  
«When are you _not_ injured?» joked Grantaire, and after earning himself a look, he continued.  
«Shins don’t usually bleed that much.» he looked down at his friend’s leg, the blood pearly black against the dark skin.  
Bossuet shrugged.  
«I have haemophilia.»  
«You do?»  
«It’s mild. That’s why my nose sometimes bleeds for no reason.»  
«How did I not know this?»  
«You’re asking me.»  
Bossuet and Grantaire were chuckling when Joly came back out and began cleaning the wound.  
His medical readiness seemed to make the whole situation calmer, so, too soon, Bossuet turned back, his eyebrow lifted, and said:  
«You were saying?»  
Grantaire sighed deeply.  
«Enjolras.» he said simply, then read the texts out loud.  
When he finished he was staring at his phone again, wondering what on earth he was going to respond to that, so he missed the meaningful look that Joly and Bossuet exchanged, the latter trying to hold back a shameless ‘aww’ for Grantaire’s sake.  
«Tragic.» said Joly sarcastically, which earned him a kick on Grantaire’s part.  
«It is tragic. He barely even looks at me usually, and now he’s sending me good morning texts? This is fucking torture, how does he not know that?» whined Grantaire, and Bossuet began rubbing circles in the small of his back. A clumsy attempt to comfort his friend, but Grantaire appreciated the effort.  
«Or maybe he _knows_ , and _wants_ to torture me!»  
«‘Taire, you could just try and… you know… answer.»  
«Oh, yeah! Great idea, Joly! Really. Amazing plan. And here I sat, thinking about throwing my phone into the Seine.» he said, voice dripping with sarcasm.  
«It wouldn’t surprise me if you did actually think about that.» said Bossuet, clearly not taking this seriously enough.  
Grantaire ignored him.  
«What the hell am I supposed to say to him?»  
«You could start with ‘good morning’»  
«Except it’s clearly not a good morning.» grumbled Grantaire.  
«Let me get you a glass of water» and Joly was gone again.  
«Thanks, mom!» called Grantaire after him.  
«Just make a joke or something, you have charm. You can do that.» said Bossuet optimistically.  
«Try a cheesy pick-up line!» came Joly’s voice from the kitchen.  
«You guys are terrible at giving advice.» Grantaire complained, putting his head in his hands.  
They carried on like that, proposing possible pick-up lines he could use on Enjolras, and they got progressively more and more ridiculous. When Grantaire actually pulled out his phone to answer, the display flashed 10:21 a.m., and he jumped up.  
«Fuck. I need to clear out my dorm by today.»  
«We’ll help» said Joly readily, and in less than 10 minutes, they were out of the apartment. Just before walking out the door, Grantaire settled on a message and pressed ‘send’.

**Author's Note:**

> Wow. So that is the first chapter of this fic I'm trying to write. Bare with me, I haven't even written the second chapter, so this might take some time, please don't hate me. 
> 
> Quick note before I go on with links and credits: I really wanted to have a fic in which mental illness is portrayed somewhat well. I am not mentally ill, so if I stumble and make mistakes please please please don't hesitate on correcting me. I'm also not a doctor so this fic may contain medical inconsistencies, so I apologize for that in advance. Feel free to give me constructive criticism! I am in the process of learning here. 
> 
> This fic is betaed by the wonderful, amazing, helpful @wisegjrl (thank you for reading me my own stories, i <3 you)
> 
> -Title stolen from Tove Lo's song This Time Around 
> 
> \- "miserable fuck" said by R in the first scene is actually an expression used by an amazing musician called Keaton Henson in the a song called To Your Health, I recommend greatly 
> 
> -GAD means General Anxiety Disorder
> 
> -Cymbalta is a type of antidepressant, which I honestly know nothing about except what I researched on the web. Info can be found here --> https://www.drugs.com/cymbalta.html (small note, Grantaire has already tried Prozac in this fic)
> 
> -CV means ‘curriculum vitae’ and it means work resume in French
> 
> -I thought it might be fun to link you one of the Vine compilations that Bahorel sends to R  
> (in which the first vine reminds me of Bahorel and the vine at minute 2:00 is literally canonically Grantaire in all his might and beauty, I love my son)  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eZrlP_sYQ2g&feature=youtu.be  
> (shoutout to Gloria for sending me this, this one's for you fam)
> 
> -Haemophilia is a medical condition in which your blood clots in a weird way or something  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Haemophilia
> 
> So what does Grantaire say to Enjolras? AH you'll find out next chapter. 
> 
> Comment, share if you like, and drink some water! 
> 
> Thanks for reading, xxx


End file.
